#hob: more than now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

five-and-dimes · 1 year

Text

Endless. Not Everything

(AO3)

(This is an AU in the sense that I know, I know, that fem Dream is canon in the comics. We're ignoring that for this one. )

Dream is horny, but Hob seems reluctant to take the next step. So Dream jumps to conclusions and tries to be something he's not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s unsurprising in hindsight that the first to make the decision is Delight.

The Endless are still fairly young in the grand scheme of things, but they have watched humanity grow in leaps and bounds. And as they do, it is nigh impossible not to be shaped by them in some ways. The Endless exist because of humanity. They are a part of each other. Delight drifts among humans more than the others, watching and laughing and bringing delight and being delighted in turn.

“Oh, my siblings,” Delight announces one day when they are all gathered together, “call me sister.”

The most surprising part of the interaction is Destiny’s response.

The eldest Endless gives a rare small smile, “Dear sister. You may call me brother.”

Perhaps it had been written from the beginning, the way the Endless would come to take this part of humanity upon themselves. They are all still so young, have not yet learned the things that would separate them, and so they watch with warmth as Delight bursts into peals of laughter and throws her arms around her brother’s neck, embracing him the way she embraced everything.

Slowly, the rest follow suit. Desire curls their lips in disdain and firmly declares that they are a sibling, thank you very much, regardless of shape or form. (It is fitting, they all think, that Desire would be the most comfortable in their given, genderless state.)

Despair takes time, mulling over every option before sighing and announcing who she is as their sister. (None of them are quite sure if she chose the option because it caused her the least amount of despair or the most.)

Destruction wavers. There is violence and destruction in both genders among humans, though in very different ways, and it makes them both uniquely unappealing at times. (In the end, it is a brother that they lose.)

Ultimately, it is not until Death spends that first day as a human that a decision is made. Death had always been flexible, but during that day it just feels right to return as a sister. (It takes a long time for humans to catch up with this decision, but luckily Death is able to find humor in the misgendering.)

Dream takes the longest. Dream is a thing of fantasy and imagination, constantly shifting and fluid, and the forms taken often do not fully fit with humanity’s limited views on either gender. For a long time Dream is just… Dream. It is not until one of the times that Death has dragged Dream down to mingle with mortals that Dream recognizes a distinct discomfort when they walk together and are called ‘sisters’ by various travelers. Dream is called ‘lady’ and ‘lass’ and ‘she’ and wants to scream. (In the end, Dream doesn’t even need to say anything. Death smiles, and rests her hand on Dream’s shoulder soothingly and says “Ready to go home, little brother?” and Dream feels something uncurl in his chest.)

And so they carry on, the Endless family. Brothers and sisters and siblings, more than human but with humanity woven through them like tapestries. Their identities become something innate to them, until it is hard to tell whether it was something they chose or something they discovered. But it doesn’t matter. It just is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then Dream is captured.

He spends more than a century trapped in the Waking.

And it starts to matter.

Burgess and his followers, with their narrow minds and greedy souls. Dream is dragged to their feet, bound by ancient magic and cruel hands. They strip him, expose his form to the cold and the pain, cage him in glass and shine a light on him to display all the parts of him that do not belong to them.

They call him ‘it’.

And oh, Dream burns, and burns, and burns. His fury is a fire with nowhere to go and it hurts. Dream is not human, he knows that, obviously, but that does not mean he is…

He is not…

He is not a thing, a tool, a toy-

…Is he?

He hates Roderick Burgess for putting that question in his mind.

He hates himself more for asking.

He wants to die when he realizes he’s not confident in the answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The discomfort, the shame, follows him even when he escapes, even when he recovers his tools and repairs his realm and regains his power. And he… he is trying to get it right this time, after so long getting it wrong (and isn’t that a tragedy, he thinks. Isn’t it a travesty, that for as long as Dream has been he has tried so very, very hard, and still managed to get it so very, very wrong).

Death says “Don’t be a stranger,” and Dream hears “Don’t go back. Don’t go back to before the pain. Don’t go back.”

Something about that hurts.

Then he goes to visit Hob.

And seeing the immortal, seeing the familiar face look up and smile at him, soothes something in him like a balm. Even without knowing all of Dream’s cosmic failures, Hob knows enough of the failures between just the two of them that Dream expects to be met with anger, or bitterness, or, he fears the most, perhaps not met at all. But instead he smiles, and lets Dream sit with him, lets him apologize and forgives him and chats about the time past as though nothing had changed.

Except, that’s not completely true, Dream realizes. Because things had changed. Dream changed. He had thought for the better, but Hob frowns softly across from him. Hob changed. His edges softened, his patience stronger, asking gently if Dream would like to talk about whatever happened. They have both changed. For the first time, Dream is the one who tells a story and Hob is the one who listens.

Many things have changed. Hob’s eyes water, and he reaches out and covers Dream’s hand with his own. Dream does not pull away. It is different, but it is still them, and Dream sighs at the warmth against his perpetually cold skin, turning his hand to curl his fingers around Hob’s and tucking away the image of Hob’s caring smile like a flower in the pocket of his mind.

When he leaves, Hob says “Don’t be a stranger,” and Dream hears “Come back. Please, please come back.”

It hurts a little less.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the grand scheme of things, it escalates rather quickly.

Dream and Hob meet more frequently, soon falling into a rhythm of seeing each other once a week, sometimes in the Waking (where Dream still felt an itch of discomfort, despite not being trapped or bound, not that he let Hob know) and sometimes in the Dreaming (where Dream felt like he could breathe).

With each meeting, Hob grows more bold. Twining their fingers together as they strolled through a dreamscape or pulling Dream in for a hug before they part outside the New Inn. Dream’s pulse beats needlessly, a little excited and a lot terrified at the way this human has wormed his way into Dream’s heart so effortlessly. Dream falls hard and fast, the only way he knows how, but he thinks Hob’s eyes reflect the same growing flame of fondness so maybe… maybe it’s not just him.

And so it happens fast, in a way. A mere few months after reuniting, Dream curls shaking hands into Hob’s jacket and pulls him into a kiss and Hob, like a miracle, kisses him back. They stand pressed together, smiling against each others’ mouths, arms wrapped in an embrace and it feels like the beginning of something.

It begins. But, Dream thinks, it never starts.

Time passes. They hold hands when they walk through the city streets. Hob pulls him down to rest his head on his shoulder, runs his fingers through Dream’s hair, wraps his arms around him and smiles the way he had before, when they were still calling each other friends. The only difference between then and now is that sometimes Hob kisses Dream on the forehead, and his cheeks, and his knuckles, and sometimes at the end of the night, if Dream leans in far enough, he will plant a chaste kiss against his lips, though never as deep or firm as the first one they shared.

Dream tries, occasionally. Holds an unneeded breath and reaches out to run a hand down Hob’s arm, presses forward to deepen a kiss, tries to be obvious in the way his gaze roams hungrily over the other man’s body. All he ever accomplishes is Hob looking away uncomfortably and finding an excuse to cut their time together short.

Hob has said that he loves him. And Dream… Dream believes him, he does, and Dream loves him back but…

But Dream also wants Hob. And evidence is pointing to Hob not wanting him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream twists their interactions in his head like a puzzle. Plucks and pulls at them like a tangle of human Christmas lights.

Sifts through them like a landfill.

He has never ventured into Hob’s dreams, and he will not start now, but he recalls every story the man has ever told him, and it is not difficult to draw conclusions from those. He had already assumed the problem lay with himself, that much seemed obvious if only given his history, but turning over Hob’s words in his mind, he thinks he may find an answer. In his (relative) youth, Hob had not shied from telling his mysterious stranger of his various conquests, the young women in steadily rising social class that he managed to coax into bed with him. And there is, of course, his marriage in the 1500s. As time passed, Hob began to keep his exploits more private, something Dream was secretly grateful for, but even reflecting on the history he knew of, it seems obvious where Hob’s sexual preference lay.

So it was that Dream found himself in his chambers, standing in front of a full-length mirror, naked and uncomfortable, contemplating how to fix the problem.

While Dream’s given form is not quite the human-stereotype of masculinity, he is still undeniably masculine. And if that is what is keeping him from being closer to Hob, if that is why he is not allowed to pour his passion across Hob’s skin with his lips and fingertips, if his preferred physical form is the only thing keeping them from growing their intimacy…

Well. He is the Shaper of Forms.

It’s an easy fix.

Or, it should be, at least. Dream is aware of the modern human standard of beauty for women, not that he understands it. He also remembers the general shape of Eleanor, one of the most prominent lovers in Hob’s life. And yet, when Dream begins the arduous process of changing his shape into something more suited to Hob’s tastes, he finds that he simply… cannot bring himself to mold certain features.

He considers heaping flesh on certain areas of his bony figure, debates wide hips and heavy breasts, thinks about shrinking himself down until he would have to stand on his toes to reach Hob’s lips. He turns each option over in his mind, like rummaging through an unfamiliar closet, and finds that he just… can’t. In some ways.

It is childish, he knows it, but even if a woman’s form is what it takes for Hob to want him back, for Hob to be pleased by him, Dream finds he still wants to… look like himself. Wants to still be recognizable, with the sharp angles of his bones pressing under paper-white skin, the deep timber of his voice, the long length of his body. He wants, so badly, for Hob to take pleasure in at least some of the features that Dream has come to think of as his.

Dream hates himself for it.

Still, when he molds his form, he does so as minimally as possible. There is the obvious anatomical change, and his chest rounds with modest breasts. His hips do widen, but are no softer for it. He keeps his face angular, but less square, his chin more tapered and his jaw sloping towards his ears. After a moment of consideration, he allows a soft flush to color his cheeks, lets his lips become a deeper shade of red, and closes his eyes as his eyelashes lengthen. Dream is unbothered by extending his hair to fall by his collar bones- he has worn his hair longer throughout his life, as has Hob- but he does purse his lips in discomfort before deciding to add soft curls to the dark locks.

The end result is… obvious. There is no mistaking exactly what Dream has done. But there is still a familiarity that brings Dream a small comfort. He looks like, perhaps, the fraternal twin of his preferred shape.

Shaking his head, Dream internally chastises himself once more. Endless are genderless, beings and concepts that defy humanity’s boxes and labels. Dream is a multitude, in constant flux of shifting shapes. He is the King of Cats, has appeared before as fire and bone and light, has taken shapes far away from any human gender, and it is surely a failing of Dream that those forms should fit more comfortably than the one he wears now. It should not matter whether some mortals on the street might see Dream in this shape and use the word “she”.

It should not matter. If the choice is between his own comfort or Hob’s pleasure…

For Hob, Dream would become anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dream walks into the New Inn, Hob’s mouth goes so dry he is convinced the moisture in the air around him must have evaporated. If Dream’s ruby-red smirk is anything to go by, Hob is anything but subtle.

“Hello, Hob.”

Sliding into the seat across from Hob, Dream shakes off the last tendrils of doubt, because there is no misinterpreting the look on the immortal’s face, which means that Dream was right.

(It’s not as satisfying as he thought it would be. He shakes that off too.)

Hob clears his throat, “Dream, good to see you,” he smiles, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, “Trying, ah… trying something different today?”

Dream leans forward, resting his head against a hand. In a similar way to wanting his form to be recognizable, his outfit is not overly changed either. In fact, he had merely copied Death’s outfit from their last meeting, though he added a fitted coat to the ensemble, keeping the skin of his arms covered while still emphasizing his new shape.

“I thought perhaps a change would be welcome,” Dream raised an eyebrow, “Is it not?”

“Well, I mean, everything’s welcome with you,” Hob stammers, still clearly floundering, “Always gorgeous, you know that.”

Dream did not, in fact, know that.

“Is that so?” He tilts his head, watching as Hob nods numbly and takes a long sip of his beer. “You seem distracted,” Dream taps a long, black fingernail against the table, focusing on keeping his voice steady, “Would you prefer to go someplace. Quieter?”

This is usually the point where Hob finds a reason to leave.

Hob swallows thickly. “Um. Sure.” He grins, a hint of excitement in his eyes, “I’ve got a new scotch upstairs. If you care for some.”

Dream grinned back, “I could be persuaded.”

When Hob takes Dream’s hand, eager and wanting, it only hurts a little.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They never make it to the scotch.

Once inside the apartment, Dream leans forward, pushes into Hob’s space, lets his eyes linger on his lips. Only this time, Hob doesn’t kiss him chastely and change the subject. This time, he pushes right back, their lips crashing together, and when Dream sighs at the feeling of calloused fingers twisting in the hair at his nape Hob groans, their tongues tangling together.

It’s perfect. It’s everything Dream wanted.

(Or. Maybe not everything.)

(But he ignores that.)

Neither notice when they move. Dream is focusing on sliding his hand beneath Hob’s shirt, scratching his fingers through the hair he feels across the broad chest, and Hob is focusing on sliding Dream’s coat off, letting it fall to the floor as he runs his hands over smooth, white skin. So neither of them are focused on when exactly their legs started moving them towards Hob’s bedroom, barely paying attention when they fumble through the door frame. It’s not until they are tumbling onto the bed, limbs twining together as they fall onto the mattress, that they pause.

Hob lands on top of Dream, his cheeks flushed as he pushes himself onto his elbows, putting just enough space between them to look down at Dream’s flushed face. “Is…” he swallows, his voice wrecked, despite barely doing anything, and Dream feels a surge of pride, “Is this alright?”

Dream answers by gripping the back of Hob’s neck, gentle but firm, and pulling him down until their bodies are pressed together again, kissing along his lips and jaw. Hob let out a huff of laughter that turned into a gasp as Dream dragged his teeth down the skin of his neck.

None of Dream’s fantasies compare to the reality of Hob’s rapid heartbeat under his mouth, the feeling of coarse hair and flexing muscles under his fingers. It’s almost enough to distract from the way Hob’s hands slip under his shirt, touching curves that didn’t exist in Dream’s fantasies.

Almost.

Hob asks again, “Is this alright?” before slipping Dream’s shirt over his head, his own following quickly, and Dream only has a moment to appreciate the vision that Hob makes above him before Hob is kissing down Dream’s chest. It feels… good. The scratch of Hob’s scruff against his skin, the weight of his body pressing down on him as he settles between his legs, the dedicated way he licks and bites at Dream’s nipples.

It feels good. But it also feels… wrong. In a way that is getting harder and harder to ignore, even as the last of their clothes are discarded and he is gifted the vision of Hob, naked and gorgeous and clearly wanting. It doesn’t distract from the fact that Dream is naked now too, that Hob is moaning and wanting for a body that isn’t truly Dream. Slowly, it begins to feel like he is drifting farther and farther from Hob’s bed, like he is watching his lover put his hands on a stranger. Like a stranger is putting their hands on him.

Somewhere along the way, Dream is realizing, his motivations have gotten twisted. It occurs to him that he should not have to remind himself that he wants Hob, should not have to repeat a mantra of I want this, I want this, I want this, when Hob runs his hands over Dream’s skin.

Because before, he had wanted this, wanted Hob to touch him and kiss him and bury himself in Dream’s body, had fantasized about it and craved it deeply. But now, it is the wrong skin. The wrong body. He thinks that maybe it stopped being about what he wanted the second he stood in front of that mirror to change himself. Hob is kissing along a slender neck and caressing a breast with one hand and dipping between legs with the other and Dream shudders and adjusts the mantra in his head.

Hob wants this. Hob wants this. Hob wants this.

All Dream can want now is just to make Hob happy.

It does not prevent what happens next.

Hob is murmuring sweet praises against the skin behind Dream’s ear, and then his fingers are pressing between Dream’s legs, stroking, pushing, entering, and Dream gasps, body tensing, and then there is a soft tearing sound between their bodies.

They both jerk in surprise, Hob pulling his fingers away immediately, eyes wide with concern, barely managing to blurt out, “Shit, did I hurt you?” before they are both looking down and freezing.

The skin of Dream’s chest is splitting slowly, like a torn seam, stretching and tearing down his center from the hollow of his throat, between his breasts, and down to the base of his belly. Thin, gossamer strands of skin criss-cross like threads, pulling taut, and beneath is an empty blackness. No blood or flesh, just a void, an absence which grows and presses against the shell of him until he is bursting at the seams with nothingness.

“Oh my god, Dream-”

Dream snaps to sit up, pushing Hob back and crossing his arms across his chest, trying to pull his skin back together like a robe that’s slipped open. But the seam only splits farther, threads snapping as the gaping maw of his body widens. He curls in on himself, trying to force the edges back together, and he feels the skin of his shoulders split, feels a tearing down his spine like a broken zipper, his entire body an ill-fitting dress that he is spilling out of.

Hob is wide-eyed and horrified, “Dream,” his voice cracks with panic, his hands held out, desperate to do something but afraid to touch, “Dream, tell me what to do, tell me how to help-”

But Dream can only shake his head, “I’m sorry,” he rasps, “I can’t.”

And then he is gone.

~~~

When he lands in the Dreaming, Dream is in his own body.

Or rather, he is in the familiar shape that he has come to think of as his. There is still a residual ache, though not wholly unpleasant, radiating through his bones.

He thinks, absently, that it is not dissimilar to the first time he stood up straight when escaping Fawney Rig. Like stretching his spine after a century curled too tight.

A painful relief.

“Woah, you alright Boss?”

Matthew’s voice startles him into awareness of his surroundings. His raven lands in front of where Dream is crumpled at the base of the throne room stairs. Pushing himself up on shaking arms, he finds himself wrapped in his longest cloak, buttoned up to his chin. Despite knowing intrinsically what form he is in, he finds himself running his hands over his face, neck, and chest, as if needing to feel for certain that everything is in its proper place, that nothing is swelling or splitting apart or breaking breaking breaking.

“Boss?”

Matthew hopped forward, concerned, and Dream let out a shaky sigh. “Yes, Matthew, I am alright.”

“Uh-huh…” Matthew tilted his head skeptically, “No offense boss, but I’ve seen you more ‘alright’ than this.” He paused, “At least I think I have.”

“I am fine, Matthew,” A hint of frustration seeps into Dream’s tone as he straightens himself, standing and pulling himself to his full height as if that could erase the shame clinging to his skin. How pathetic, how disgraceful. It was bad enough to lose control, to be held at the mercy of his own body, but to once more flee and leave Hob alone in the shadow of Dream’s weakness was nigh unforgivable. How many times would he crumple and run away from Hob before the immortal decided he wasn’t worth it? Dream could hardly believe he had stuck around this long.

As he glanced around the throne room, Dream thought he could see the echoes of broken glass.

Sighing, Dream turned tired eyes back to his raven, “I am fine,” he repeated, “but I would appreciate some privacy this evening. Please let Lucienne know that I am not to be disturbed except for emergencies.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Matthew still looked worried when he flew off, but Dream didn’t have the energy to be annoyed by it. As soon as he was alone again, he let himself sag onto the bottom step of the staircase, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms across them.

He wishes he could be surprised at his ability to ruin his relationship with Hob so swiftly and thoroughly, but all he feels is resignation. He had hoped he could bask in the joy of this relationship a little longer, but there was nothing to be done now, not after such a blatant failure. The least he could do was not hide. He owed Hob that much.

It didn’t take long, but then, Dream didn’t expect it to. Barely an hour had passed before he could feel the familiar warmth of Hob entering the Dreaming. He couldn’t help the small, fond smile at Hob’s ability to force himself to sleep when he wanted to.

A part of him still wanted to hide, wanted to dissolve into sand and cower in the cracks and crevices of the palace until Hob was forced to wake. But Hob deserved better than that. And a small, traitorous shred of optimism wondered if he might be forgiven.

So, with a soft breath of willpower, he opened the throne room to Hob’s searching subconscious. He practically fell through the palace doors, as though he had been sprinting before being brought here. Dream stood, stiff and waiting for chastisement, and for a moment they simply stared at each other, Hob still reeling slightly from the change in location.

“Dream,” Hob’s voice is not angry. In fact, it is heavy with relief, and Dream feels his breath catch in his throat as Hob rushes forward and rambles, “Thank God, I was so worried. I’m so, so sorry, are you alright? Are you hurt? Can I hug you?”

Dream blinks as Hob comes to stand before him, hands held out but waiting for permission. Hob’s eyes are searching Dream’s body, looking for any wounds or signs of distress. He does not mention Dream’s changed form.

He’s not angry.

Everything is not ruined, and Dream feels like crying with relief, and without thinking he throws his arms around Hob’s chest, curling his fingers in the back of his shirt and burying his face in Hob’s neck. A huff of breath is knocked from Hob’s lungs as they collide together, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the hold, one hand carding through Dream’s hair as the other strokes his back.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers into his skin.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Hob responds immediately.

But Dream shakes his head, pulling away reluctantly, “I should not have…”

Should not have what? Gotten Hob’s hopes up? Promised something only to fail to deliver? Wanted more than he deserved?

Hob frowned, cupping Dream’s cheek in one hand to try to meet his eyes, “Dove… what happened? I… I was afraid that I hurt you-”

“No,” Dream reassured him immediately, “you did nothing wrong, I just…”

Stepping away from Hob’s hands, he slumped back to sit on the bottom step. Hob quickly joined him, sitting beside him and waiting patiently for Dream to find some way to explain himself.

“I am. Endless. But… there are still. Things that I am Not.”

‘Lovable’ is at the top of the list, he thinks, though ‘wanted’ isn’t far behind.

‘Woman’ is on there somewhere, too, apparently.

When he looks, Hob’s brow is furrowed in confusion, so he continues, “I have many forms that come easily to me. That feel… natural. But. The one I wore for you is not one of them.” Hob’s eyes widen, but Dream doesn’t give him a chance to interrupt, needing to get everything out before he loses his fragile courage, “I do not know why. Endless are… we were made genderless. It is a human thing. It should not feel so. So wrong to shape myself in a way that pleases you. And yet you saw what happened when I tried. I could not…” Dream’s voice cracks, and he has to clench his eyes shut and swallow thickly.

“Dream…” Hob sounds heartbroken, and Dream hates himself for always getting it wrong wrong wrong.

“I know that you love me, as I love you,” Dream pulls the words out through gritted teeth, “But I… I am greedy, and selfish, and I want you. And I. Wanted you to want me as well.”

“But I do want you.” Hob blurts the words out, loud and desperate, unable to bite them back any longer.

Dream glances up, blinking slowly, uncomprehending, “…What?”

Hob’s eyes are wide, his hands coming up to grip his own hair as his voice takes on a note of something like hysteria, “I do want you. Fuck, Dream, I want you so fucking much I thought it was a problem!”

“What?”

His hands flail as the words spill out, tripping over himself to get out months worth of feelings, “Dream, Dove, I’ve been taking two cold showers a day. Sometimes I have to sit on my hands to keep from pawing at you when you’re in arms reach. Fuck, I’ve bitten through the inside of my cheek more times than I can count just trying not to jump you!”

There is a long moment where they simply stare at each other, Hob with wide eyes and his hands in the air, Dream with his mouth slightly agape and eyes glistening with disbelief.

“Then why didn’t you?” Dream’s voice is soft, skeptical, insecure.

A pain lances through Hob’s chest, and a watery laugh escapes him, “I’m such an idiot,” he whispers, mostly to himself, before looking up at Dream with sad, guilt-ridden eyes, “I didn’t want to push you. You’ve had… a bit of a rough century. I didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything too fast. And then you showed up like…” he waved a hand ambiguously, “like that, and I thought you were, y’know, trying to hint at something.”

Burying his face in his hands, his voice raises with self-deprecation, “And I guess you were, I just didn’t think… fuck. I just didn’t think,” he finishes softly. When he lifts his head he looks so very sad, but he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and take Dream’s hand, “I’m so sorry, Love. For all I nag you to communicate more, I didn’t tell you what was going through my head either. I should have just asked from the beginning instead of assuming. Fuck, I should have asked as soon as you showed up so different. I should have realized something was wrong. I’m sorry.”

For a long moment, Dream’s eyes drift between the earnestness on Hob’s face and the soft grip of their clasped hands. He doesn’t not meet Hob’s eyes when he confesses, “Is it wrong of me to take comfort in the fact that I am not alone in my misstep?”

This time when Hob laughs, it is a bark of surprised delight, and his free hand ruffles Dream’s hair, drawing an annoyed huff from the Endless, “No, no dear, I understand.”

Dream isn’t sure that’s true. Isn’t sure Hob fully understands that in the scant handful of relationships Dream has had he has always been the only one fumbling, the only one struggling and struggling to catch up with his partner, to understand the things they seemed to know intrinsically, to find the balance between too much and not enough that everyone else seems to find with ease. He doesn’t think Hob truly understands, the way Dream does now if not before, that in his past relationships every fault had been his and his alone, and so the very idea that perhaps the weight of this one does not need to rest solely on his own shoulders, that for the first time they are, perhaps, equals in their fumbling, is such a heavy, heady relief that he feels faint with it.

He opens his mouth to explain all of this, but before he can speak Hob is pulling him in for a soft, gentle kiss. “We’re in this together, yeah?” He rests their foreheads together, smiling, “So we’ll figure it out together, too.”

That is all Dream has wanted, for a very long time.

He smiles against Hob’s lips, bringing a hand up to play with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “Well. You need not sit on your hands anymore.”

Hob laughs, “And you need not be anything other than yourself.��

It is still hard to believe that anyone might be happy with Dream being himself.

But.

Hob can be very convincing when he wants to be.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #why are endings HARD I HATE #alas #at least it's out of my system now #local transmasc projects onto shapeshifter more at 11 #dream of the endless #hob gadling #more shapeshifting fuckery #body horror #kinda?#tagging anyway cause better safe than sorry #yeet

301 notes · View notes

cuubism · 1 year

Text

i've never really seen hob as particularly progressive throughout most of his history, and indeed he's actively shown as the opposite at least once, but i do think hob has a very 'live and let live' attitude towards a lot of things. listen he's just here for a good time, ok. he's not here on this earth to prevent people from having oral sex or whatever these people are going on about nowadays.

i just imagine someone approaching hob in like, 1880, one of his more successful and settled eras, to try to recruit him for their reactionary moral panic crusade of the day, and hob just looks at them like "have you tried getting a life? have you tried touching grass?" and walks away.

#hob: i'm older than your political party fuck off #some street preacher: sodomy is of the devil!#hob taking a long sip of his ale: don't knock it until you've tried it #someone: i saw hob at the devil's sacrament!#hob *leaning on his hand*: i see. and what were *you* doing--#etc etc #hob gadling #the sandman #someone: sodomy is of the devil #hob who's been under the impression he made a deal with said devil for immortality: oh is it now. do tell me more 👀#hob 1489 pouring wine: so... stranger....

309 notes · View notes

wisterian-dark · 2 years

Text

Hob loves to ramble about history and Dream loves to listen, as he always did at each and every one of their meetings, but as Hob starts going into another tangent about the mid 1800s - because the textbooks got it all wrong, as they often do - he stops mid-sentence at the feeling of Dream's head resting on his shoulder. Dream doesn't need sleep, not really, but Hob is one of the very few people who make him feel safe enough to let his guard down and just rest.

If he feels Hob's hand gently combing through his hair, well, he can't say he minds that much, not that he'd admit it to anyone. He just shifts a bit closer into Hob's side and lets himself be taken care of, feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly disappear as he breathes into Hob's scent and relaxes under his touch.

#hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #the sandman #me: i shall write angst of the highest calibre #also me: my man has suffered enough he deserves some good ol fashioned fluff #i promise i'll write dreamling soft hours in an honest-to-god fic #but for now have this #i just think dream would be very sensory aware #hob's voice and warmth and scent and just‚ his presence are very comforting for him #you might as well give him a blanket and warm milk with honey‚ it'd have the same effect on him #this is a very fancy way of saying he loves to cuddle lmao #and hob is more than happy to oblige #i'm very‚ very normal about them #ty for 200 notes!#alec.txt

279 notes · View notes

ihavenohotcocoa · 2 years

Text

Attention: This is a public service announcement

Dream of the Endless and Hob Gadling are gay.

That is all.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #dreamling #coco says stuff #your honor they are homosexual #evidence:#literally that entire half of episode 6 #because you cannot tell me that you would platonically wait decades for your friend to show up #headcanon that dream starts to come by a bit more often than just every 100 years #not in person #but every now and then Hob catches glimpse of an emo looking fuck in his dream #and then the entire dream is completely derailed into Hob having a nice chat with Morpheus

132 notes · View notes

poly-space-nerds · 2 years

Text

i was listening to Burn from Hamilton and I could not stop thinking about Hob singing it. Like I don’t think Dream would ever cheat on anybody. It’s just not how he loves. But I am obsessed with Hob singing

‘You and your words flooded my senses/ Your sentences left me defenseless/ You built me palaces out of paragraphs/ You built cathedrals’

and I am all about using that in a lovely way and making it sappy and not using the rest of the song but ohhhh

‘You forfeit all rights to my heart/ You forfeit the place in our bed/ You’ll sleep in your office instead/ with only the memories of when you were mine’

(but instead of ‘sleep in your office’ it’s ‘you’ll keep in your kingdom instead’

Just the power of Hob saying that to and Endless makes me absolutely obsessed. I don’t know why Hob would have righteous anger but it would fit so well.

‘I hope that you burn’

25 notes · View notes

fucktheroyals · 2 years

Text

If Dream (of the Endless) was human, what would his job be?

#would he work at like Mcdonalds... JCpenney... the cheesecake factory? or would he be like Robert Pattinson's Bruce Wayne and be a #emo billionaire cryptid? these are the important questions #now I do suppose that his job. if one was writing a dreamling fic would depend on what Hob's job is.#HOWEVER I think if would be fair to say that yes. Hob could be a professor while Dream works a minimum wage job...#however however... at that point you are really treading the line to where Dream could easily fall out of character and give too much #'stereotypical emo twink' instead of his actual personality which is far more detailed and complicated than that.#you know what actually. Tom has brought so much more dimension to Dream than there already was. so taking dream out of his environment #at all makes it really hard to keep him in character. I'm understanding why I don't find any aus that aren't just a changing of the order #of events.#anyway believable jobs for a human/'modern setting' Dream pls #the sandman

22 notes · View notes

pumpkinkingsalem · 1 year

Text

Researching a little thing to be able to wrap up chapter 2 of A Night at The Opera and stumbled upon this. It's actually adorable and I love it.

(If you know where the New Inn is canonically located and what metros are called in London, I'd love you forever please educate me I live in Brasil we dont have that shit)

#the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #morpheus #the sandman netflix #neil gaiman #sandman #tom sturridge #i think their more than friends your honor #this is adorable #i love it with my whole heart #ive stared at it for 6 hours now #please also help me what are words

18 notes · View notes

iamtheansweringmachine · 2 years

Text

yeah right where you left me is a hob song but have you consider that he listens to speak now on REPEAT? i mean it has Mine and Sparks fly and Enchanted and Better than revenge and Haunted omg

#better than revenge by taylor swift has more literary value #hob gadling #no but hob talk8ng SHIT about Shakespeare and ending with #god #hob x morpheus #i news thebship name asap #speak now

14 notes · View notes

xx-vergil-xx · 1 year

Note

(2/2)

Anyway this was just to say that the line of Hob being the closed end of parenthesis made me more emotional than anything has any right to do because what is one part of the parenthesis if its partner is missing and would you look at that I made myself cry again.

Sorry for throwing this in your inbox and I'm sorry for any mistakes in spelling because I actually can't see my keyboard very well gfhjfghhfg I am off to sit in a dark room and try to gather myself. thank you for this wonderful story and gift you've given the sandman and dreamling fandom ily and Hounds ever so much <3

(p.s this is bookbinding anon btw, who I know you found but I'm always too embarrassed to ask things off of anon so here we are)

hello book binder!! <3 <3 <3 responding to both parts of ur ask in one here bc u rlly made me sit down and. think. about parentheses. my favorite thing in the world is when someone like shares their literal galaxy brain analysis of something w me it is such a gift to hear ur thoughts im like. my god. the implication of losing the opening parenthesis. to be only an end without a start. jesus christ. im actually in deep physical and emotional Agonies about that now holy hell.

thank you so very much for not only ur like genius tier thoughts which have left me physically shaking but also for ur immensely kind words about my writing!! all my love <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

3 notes · View notes

littledreamling · 1 year

Text

A Funeral for a Living Ghost

An excerpt from my upcoming ficlet about religion and mourning and the process of letting go

Hob Gadling had a bad habit of attending his own funerals.

It had started in the early 1500's. He had taken something of an extended vacation, traveling to the Holy City of Rome, finally restored to its former glory after languishing for years while the Papacy resided in France. When he had returned to London after twenty or so years, his beard grown in and his hair significantly lighter from the southern sun, he had been welcomed back by his neighbors as his own son. He had been forced to, on the spot, spin a tall tale about his dear father, who had met his demise under the hooves of a draft horse. The entire town, good Catholic Christians that they had been, had insisted on a funeral. Last rites and all, they had said, and Hob had been too touched to refuse. The majority of the attendees hadn't even known him; they had simply known of him, had heard stories from their parents about their old friend, Robert Gadling.

There hadn't been a body to bury, for obvious reasons, but he assured his neighbors, to the best of his ability, that the body of his father had been laid to rest in Rome. Not home soil, but holy soil nonetheless. Still, his neighbors insisted that there be, if not a funeral, a service. A commemoration of his life, of everything Robert Gadling had done for his community and once again, Hob was too touched to refuse.

The church had been quiet; the kind of quiet you could feel in your soul. It was the quiet of respect, of mourning, of a great and terrible sorrow. In that quiet, Hob Gadling found himself thinking of his own father, the father he truly had lost, and found that the stinging tears prickling at his eyes were as real as any he'd ever shed.

For the first time, he had allowed himself to mourn his friends; those he had known, the parents and grandparents of those who filled the pews of the church, those he had seen be born, those he had seen take their first steps and babble their first words, those he had attended weddings and funerals for. He had allowed himself to mourn that version of Hob Gadling, the name he would never wear again, the person he could never be again, the life he lived until he could live it no longer. He had mourned, and then he had left.

70 notes · View notes

sparklecryptid · 2 years

Note

You have apparently fallen into Dreamling. I feel snugly-warm on the inside.

I have!! I have fallen into dreamling!!! I am just! I think they’re neat!!

*holds up hob and dream action figures* I am going to do so many things to you guys <3

#listen sometimes you get weirdly attached to a mortal that doesn’t die and is stupid and full of love and hope and human things #and you shouldn’t but he’s hob. and he’s your friend. and you are ATTACHED #it’s okay if you show up more than once a century to meet him now. right? RIGHT?#it’s fine #it’s chill

5 notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 4 months

Note

Coriolanus x commander's daughter!! I've never seen anyone writing this but that would be so hot and forbidden

Request: Getting manhandled by peacekeeper!Coryo or getting fucked while he's in uniform or both YES PLEASE

Note: Birthdays should be spent doing the things you like...so I finished this one today. Enjoy!!

Warnings: 18+, uniform kink, semi-public fingering + oral (f receiving), forbidden relationship,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Coriolanus Snow made a lot of stupid choices in his eighteen years of living, but having an affair with his commander’s daughter took the cake. The clandestine romance was risky and could, at extreme extent, get him executed for inappropriate conduct, but the fire that surged through your whole body every time you were together was addicting.

The first time you saw him, you were searching around for your father, having a message to deliver to him in person from the head commander. You kept your head high and stayed on your guard as you walked through the heap of peacekeepers in training, not wanting to look like a lost puppy among them.

You could usually find your way around the base, but today was scorching hot, so you decided to look for someone who would be kind enough to help you get to him.

A row of younger soldiers caught your eye. They were doing push-ups in their singlets, beads of sweat dripping down the side of their faces. As you were trying to pick which shaved head you were going to ask help from, one of them stood out near the end of the line.

Walking up to him, you couldn't help but silently admire the way his arms would flex as he continued the push-ups. Damn. Your stomach clenched at the sight.

‘’Excuse me?’’ You cleared your throat and he looked up, surprising you with the prettiest pair of blue eyes. ‘’Could you help me find Commander Hoff? I have something to deliver to him from the head Commander.’’

The blond cocked an eyebrow, uncertain if he should be helping you. It was his first time seeing you on the base. ‘’And you are to him..?” he prompted, staring you down as his mind embarked a sinful roller-coaster of thoughts.

‘’His daughter.’’

Although well aware of the dangers, Coriolanus couldn’t stop seeing you. And neither could you. You were addicted to his mouth and the way he could lift you up with ease and fuck you while standing, how his toned chest felt under your palms and attractive he looked in his blue uniform.

After you bid your parents goodnight, you changed out of your day clothes and ventured to where you knew all peacekeepers spent their nights at. You didn’t know for sure that Coriolanus was at the Hob, but the barracks were all empty and he didn't have many friends in District 12 besides Sejanus, so it seemed likely he would be there.

It didn’t take long for him to notice you in the bar, your dress brighter in color and certainly shorter than the locals. Your eyes met across the room for a brief moment, then you disappeared through the backrooms, confident that Coriolanus would follow suit.

You could hear his boots on the floors, slowly catching up to you. Your heart quickened its pace behind your chest, excitement building.

It wasn’t until you made it outside that he called you out. ‘’What are you doing here, Miss. Hoff?’’ he asked, his voice echoing in the dark alley.

Your feet came to a stop.

Coriolanus stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between you. ‘’The Commander wouldn’t want his darling daughter in a place like this.’’ Your back was now pressed against his front, an agreeable warmth in contrast to the night air. Coriolanus’s mouth moved to your ear. ‘’A place full of men who would like nothing more than dipping it in your tight cunt.’’

His words should have disgusted you, but they were speaking the truth. These men inside were drinking more than they should and no one was really stepping up for the women they were harassing. With the skirt of your dress hitting above your knee, some could associate it as provocative or inviting.

You turned to face him, biting your bottom lip when you noticed his uniform button up partially undone, revealing a glimpse of his white undershirt.

‘’I shall accompany you back to the base.’’ Coriolanus grabbed you by the arm, but you protested.

He was much stronger than you, so he easily grabbed both of your wrists with a hard squeeze and pinned you against the closest brick wall. You gasped, then quickly realized what game he was playing and you’d be damned if you didn’t play along.

‘’Are you going to arrest me, Mr. Peacekeeper?’’

Coriolanus’s grip on your wrists tightened, a stern command following. ‘’No talking.’’

You could feel your own wetness starting to pool between your legs, aroused by the unfolding situation. The game. The play of power.

His other hand moved from your waist to your hip, slipping underneath the fabric of your dress. He went over the curve of your ass before venturing between your legs to rub you over your panties, but he was met with a surprise. Coriolanus cocked an eyebrow. ‘’No panties tonight?’’

‘’I was hoping to run into you.’’

‘’Naughty girl.’’ His fingers started moving over your folds, coaxing a needy moan from you.

Your jaw dropped as he pushed two long fingers in, making you clench around them. Coriolanus did a scissor motion, then curled them inside, eliciting another moan. ‘’Fuck me.’’

Coriolanus shook his head. ‘’Sorry, darling. I don’t take any commands from civils.’’

‘’Please.’’

You could feel his smug smile behind your neck as the words left your tongue. ‘’What would your daddy say if he knew what his little girl was begging me to do to her?’’ Coriolanus pushed his fingers deeper, making you mewl, so needy for him.

He withdrew his fingers, letting you assume he was going to unbuckle his pants and finally take you, but Coriolanus turned you around and sank to his knees in front of you. The dirt on the ground will dirty his uniform, but he didn’t seem to care. Coriolanus looked up at you, then hooked your leg over his shoulder, leaning forward to kiss the inside of your knee.

You slipped a groan of approval when his mouth got closer to where you wanted him. Then, his tongue ran between your folds, circling your clit slowly. A loud, desperate moan echoed around the dark alley. Coriolanus pinched your thigh, a silent reminder to be quiet. He loved when you were loud, but the Hob was full of peacekeepers. If anyone were to see you together, Coriolanus would be in trouble.

His huge hands sank into your ass, squeezing at the same time he sucked your clit into his mouth. You reached to grab onto something, to keep you from being so loud, but found nothing other than Coriolanus’s buzzed head.

‘’Coryo…’’ you whimpered.

In the matter of minutes, he had turned you into a whimpering mess. Back arching away from the wall, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

One of his hands moved from my ass, and when you looked down, a pair of blue eyes was staring back at you. They stay burning into you, watching you closely as two of his fingers slide into you, finding that one perfect spot in less time than you need to say his name.

His pace increased as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, perfectly coordinated with his tongue. If the wall wasn’t holding you up, you would have toppled over by now. The feeling kept building, the heel of your shoe digging into the hard muscles of his back as you desperately tried to move your hips to ride his fingers.

You were wound so impossibly tight you couldn’t breathe. ‘’Coryo, I’m going to cu—’’

You didn’t even get the words out as every part of you spasmed, everything tingling and throbbing as you tightened around him. Below you, Coriolanus moaned, the taste of you welcomed on his tongue.

When he removed his fingers and mouth, he leaned back so he could look up at you properly. He grinned like a devil, his lips glistening with your juices as he sucked his fingers into his mouth.

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis@Shasta89 @sierraluvz @specialk6802 @CZARINERA @katherinejess @cookielovesbooks-akie

Hunger games / BOASAS taglist: @crossyourmindrights @ziggyneedsabreak @folkloreshorts @runningfrom2am @soulessien @itzfckingreal @creedsofapollo @heart-helmet @javden @definitelykyles @pumkinnroses @pepperonipastas @arzua10 @upwritingallnight @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @caitlin222 @mingukkieposts @lucygreene @mimirocha @sunnysunny133696 @10ava01 @aesthetixhoe @moonquarrel @mus_tbe_a_weasley @under-seasoned-pasta @nowitsmissing

#coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

2K notes · View notes

targaryenluvs · 5 months

Text

OUR LITTLE DOVE

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

warnings: crazy lucy n corio conspiring like evil doers, manipulation, chasing, primal play?? is that what is called idk corio enjoys hunting your ass down, kidnapping, drugging, forced into accepting a third partner?? nc touching, abuse of power (peacekeeper), power dynamics, kinda cheating (lucy n corio), guilt-trip, jealousy, threatening, self doubt and relationship problems, murder, betrayal

word count: 3.0k

a/n: lol i complain about wanting to write fluff but all my good ideas r so dark 😭 someone needs to give me tips on how to write girls cuz i have no experience would be easier if i was gay boooo!!

he was like a shadow, stuck to your back, always.

you’d complained to lucy numerous times that you didn’t feel comfortable around him when she played at the hob, knowing he’d be there, in the crowd. “sweetie, he was my mentor. he helped me so much in the games, i wouldn’t be here without him. you love me don’t you? so you need to learn to love him too, he’s a good friend a mine. i love you and i gotta get to the stage baby.” she explained as she ran around getting herself and the covey ready.

you were always front row. wanting to be as close to lucy as possible. she looked especially majestic tonight with flowers in her hair. as you listened to her sing you’d managed to forget about the certain blonde peacekeeper near the back. but he hadn’t forgotten about you, nor lucy.

you’d left to get a drink and you’d came back to an unfamiliar tune. you usually knew every song being played off by heart but this was new.

Everyone's born as clean as a whistle

As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy

Staying that way's a hard row for hoeing

she sounded as angelic as usual and the crowd around you seemed entranced.

As rough as a briar

Like walking through fire

This world, it's dark

This world, it's scary

lucy smiled at you once, just once. which threw you off since you usually got a bunch. especially during new songs and songs about you. was this not also about you?

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary It's why

I need you

so it is about me! you thought as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sway to the music and singing. you’d hoped you wouldn’t miss a smile headed your way.

You're as pure as the driven snow

your eyes flew open as you stared at lucy, she was looking past you and to the peacekeeper. to coriolanus snow. you’d always been a rational person, you prided yourself on restraint but that restraint was hanging on by a thread. you wanted to jam a beer bottle into his neck. lucy was your girlfriend not his. and yet he smiled stupidly towards her as she sang and you could feel your heart clawing its way up. best to leave now rather than stay and hear more of the ever so driven man.

your head was spinning as you slumped to the floor, in one of your finest dresses yet worst mental states. of course, something had formed between the two. she was in the goddamn hunger games and he was her mentor. trauma bonding? he quite literally saved her life, coached her and you did what? sat at home and hoped.

hope could only get you so far.

your hope and faith in lucy gray baird was dwindling as her lyrics swirled in your head. of course she loved him. who wouldn’t? the man was undeniably eye catching. a capitol man. but you’d always imagined lucy staying away from the capitol, despising them. but maybe it wasn’t the captiol part but the man part. maybe she wanted a true life, a home, marriage and children and everything she could wish for.

what on earth could you provide her with?

“y/n?” it sure as hell wasn’t lucy calling out for you and you knew that. coriolanus’s reflection was prominent in the puddle before you as he neared. great, you sneered, would love to get to know you mr peacekeeper. please tell me how you stole my lovely girlfriend from me!

your chest felt oh so heavy as you heard his footsteps in the gravel, determined and unwavering as he made his way to your slumped body. “what do you want? you wanna gloat?” coriolanus stopped in his tracks, gloat? “why would i gloat?” you looked up at him annoyed, “rub it in my face. you practically stole my girlfriend from me.” coriolanus laughed. actually laughed and it made you want to strangle him with his stupid dog tags.

“sweetheart.” vomit. you wanted to vomit. maybe choking and dying on your vomit would be less embarrassing then this. why on earth was this fuck head calling you his sweetheart. “fuck off.”

you didn’t see him coming. and you certainly didn’t expect his demeanour to snap. but the large hand tangled in your open hair was a big slap in the face to your unreadiness. “you of all people don’t get to talk to me like that. do you know who you’re talking to?” you could hear his perfect porcelain teeth grinding at your words. god this man couldn’t handle an insult. wuss.

“what the hell is your- ow! problem!” you yelped as he dragged you into an alleyway. “you need to learn how to respect your superiors. if you’re nice to me, i can make your life easier. doesn’t it hurt? not being able to fully provide for your family? seeing them struggle? do you really think disrespecting a peacekeeper is going to help? i suggest you straighten your act and thank me for even looking your way. there are plenty of other girls here.”

but he didn’t want those other girls. he wanted you. you with the teary eyes and messy hair. you who he’d been seeing in his dreams and during the day. you with the kind smile and curious eyes. you who were so sweet and pretty but mean when need be. the y/n who was stupid enough to spit such hateful words at a peacekeeper. but he’d teach you. whether it be with words and lessons or actions and bruises. you’d learn your place, by his side and lucy’s, and underneath. but with such fearful, brown doe eyes watering up infront of him, the girl he’d heard oh so much about from lucy. how could he refrain from indulging?

his hand reached out to wipe away the few stray tears that fell as his left extended towards your right, which was clutching your head, where he’d grabbed you. “shh, let me help you.” your hand slowly retracted as your heart ran a marathon. the man was obviously unstable, going from a deceptively caring man to violent. coriolanus smiled at your actions, and it freaked you out. he caressed your scalp in an attempt to soothe, “good girl.” he cooed as your apparent saviour approached.

“sweetie?” lucy called out to you as coriolanus withdrew from your personal space. he walked over to her and she let him. he held her hand and spoke with, love? his voice was soft and comforting, his thumb again caressing the back of her hand as they talked, whispered, plotted? god knows, all you wanted was to leave.

was this your chance?

you tested the waters, slow and calculated movements as lucy nodded in agreement with him. but by the time they were done speaking you’d bolted.

but you sure as hell weren’t getting far with these two on your tail, poor y/n l/n. a little dove trying to spread her wings but they were bound to be clipped.

your feet were throbbing and begging for you to slow down. but your brain was in charge for once, your heart which yearned for your dear songbird pushed to the side as your head screamed and urged you to go. she was in league with him apparently. her seeing him corner you and not even batting an eyelash. did she truly care for you so little? did she want to rid herself of you? she could’ve broken up with you and let that be it. maybe the games had twisted her head.

even as you believed yourself to be gaining distance from the two you could hear the not-so distant steps of determined pursuit, headed your way. how would they kill you? slow and intimate? hasty and brutal?

“if you stop running now we won’t be mad little dove!” lucy shouted in warning as you felt yourself momentarily slow at her words. traitor. you thought to yourself as your body involuntary listened, she still had an affect on you. “she’s right, we love you, we won’t hurt you. unless we have to, don’t give us our reasons.”

“shut up!” you screamed. god, i know we haven’t talked in a while. last minute efforts right? maybe he’d listen to you, save you from your tormentors. you should’ve kept your head clear, focused on running. focused on your surroundings and if you had, you would’ve noticed the nearing tree roots, thick and protruding from the ground, ready to knock you down.

you crawled behind the tree, trying to catch your breath as your hands worked tirelessly to provide some form of relief to your aching ankle.

crack.

you’d been found. you fucked up.

“our little dove, ever the sprinter.”

his words had you lurching forwards in an attempt of fleeing but lucy’s cold hand on your ankle dragged protests and cries from your throat as well as you, back to them. “you should’ve listened before, we would’ve been nice. given you some time to adjust, but you can’t sit and think for a second can you?” coriolanus mocked as his hand trailed up your un-injured leg, “that’s okay, you won’t be doing much thinking from now on. we’ll be taking care of you, since you obviously can’t take care a’ yourself baby.” lucy’s voice was saccharine, like honey, and her smile was even sweeter. the familiarity and comfort of her presence was intoxicating, you felt at peace on one side and the other wanted to jump off a cliff. she lowered your guard and coriolanus slithered right in.

the prick in the side of your neck wasn’t painful, but their words were. “you’re with us now, we’ll take care of you, we promise.” and you were stuck, stuck with them for god knows how long.

you blinked away the sleep in your eyes, adjusting to the room. maybe they had killed you? in their own twisted way they’d keep you forever, in their memories and soul. coriolanus and lucy’s voices swam around your head and blended together. you were wrong. yay.

“it’s a bit early for katniss, even if it’s one of her favourites.”

“she should eat something better.”

“better? don’t go all capitol on me now corio.”

he was smiling, you could tell.

“never lucy gray. but she’ll be weak for a few days, proper meals will help her regain some strength.”

you picked your head up and looked through the window, the lake was evident.

“alright, you go grab it and i’ll stay here.”

“why? so you can get more time with her? if anyone should get extra time it’s me.”

“now who was her partner first? oh that’s right, me. you’re acting as if i’m gonna pick her up and run away. if you’re that scared than we’ll both go. take her with us.”

coriolanus’s head whipped towards the cabin and you quickly flopped back down on the bed. you shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open. “gosh, doesn’t she look pretty?” lucy asked, knowing the answer already. “so calm, i liked her better when she was crying.” lucy hit him, “coriolanus snow!” he stroked the side of your face and you had to resist from turning your head and biting his fingers off.

“little dove.” your eyes opened again, turning your head his way tiredly. “we need to get some supplies okay?” you nodded as lucy went outside to gather the baskets she’d left out earlier on to dry. coriolanus’s hand dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, “i told you i’d make you respect me. now listen, if you try anything when we’re in town i will never let you forget it. you’ll know who you belong to every single day. maybe i’ll pay your family a visit? an appointment with the hanging tree for being rebels? stealing?”

you shook your head violently as you began to cry, “you don’t want that? didn’t think so. you listen to me and everything will be fine. your family will get daily help and weekly groceries. they’ll never go hungry again. all thanks to their sweet little girl. lucy’s too nice, but don’t think for a second she’ll save you from me. you’re mine and if you try anything.” he leaned in to whisper, “i’ll strangle her with my bare hands infront of you.” his words were meant to scare you, and they did. but don’t you know? coriolanus snow doesn’t need a reason to do bad things.

coriolanus was wicked and ruthless when it came to what he wanted, if you had any hope of trying to get through this then you’d need lucy’s attention and help. so you nodded. “words sweetheart.” you swallowed your pride, your dignity, and you shook hands with the devil.

“yes, i’ll do what you say.” he straightened up, his white shirt a contrast to his dark thoughts.

“y’all ready to go?” lucy questioned as coriolanus grinned, “yes, yes we are.” he lifted you up and helped you dress, you hadn’t realised the fact that you were only dressed in his own white shirt, dress to you. he handled you like you were the most delicate object. as if he wasn’t hell bent on breaking you, over and over again. till you were fit to his standards. the captiol standards. the snow standards.

his, his, his.

with how obedient you were, he figured you’d do well in the capitol. which was exactly where he was meaning to bring you.

lucy walked in front of the two of you as you made your way through the woods. coriolanus’s hand was glued to your waist as he held you close, afraid to let go. you were at flight risk of course. his grip was tight and bruising. lucy’s humming distracted you at times, if you were delusional enough you could imagine it to be the two of you. your brothers far infront and the covey following. after an amazing afternoon at the lake, heading home for dinner, maybe a performance or the night shift.

your daydreaming was interrupted when you clocked coriolanus’s missing hand from your waist, and his arm now around lucy grays throat.

don’t you remember? you’d do well in the capitol! you were his! but not entirely, no.

not with her in the way.

you were frozen in place as lucy clawed at him before reaching out for you. a plea, a cry for help and aid yet you stood stuck in fear. a minute, two. she’d put up a strong fight, especially when you ran towards the two, pushing and shoving at coriolanus to let her go. but again, you fucked up.

here lies lucy gray baird, singer, victor, psycho.

obsessed? madly in love? you couldn’t think of another word, and as much as you wished to forget her, forget how she’d practically allowed another man into your relationship and let him kidnap you. her lifeless face and hollow eyes made your heart clench. but soon enough she was rolled over, thrown in a pre-made hole and buried. she’d survived the games but no one survived coriolanus snow.

“don’t forget what i said. don’t forget what you agreed to. you said you’d do as i say, i’m telling you to get up and follow me. we’re leaving district 12.” your face was painted with confusion as coriolanus clutched your face, “i’m going back, and you’re coming with me. don’t ask questions, just do as i say.”

and you did.

when he had you say goodbye to your family, a courtesy, a privilege he’d granted you. you kept it short and sweet, no questions just hugs and false promises of return.

when he ushered you onto the train and he wanted you to sit and be silent, you did.

through his time at the university, he wanted you close to him, living with him. and you did.

through his presidency campaign he wanted for you to charm sponsors and entice newcomers. you did.

when he wanted to marry you in a grand spectacle infront of the captiol and dress you up, you did as he asked.

when he held you down on your wedding night after tearing your dress off, biting and marking you down all over, pushing you down to your knees and took you all over the house, asking you to give yourself to him as if he didn’t take you anyways, you did.

you had no idea why at this point.

for your family? who hadn’t reached out in so long, even when they promised to talk to you every day? coriolanus had them all arrested, punished and hung for inciting riots and uprisings.

for your friends whom listened to your concerns of the capitol peacekeeper who hovered and didn’t make you feel crazy? each of them ended up dead in many different ways, hung, shot, a mugging gone wrong.

you didn’t know at this point and when you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the girl who stared back. a captiol sheep, dressed up in the finest silk dresses and slick heels yet the filth underneath the finery, jewels, and makeup weighed you down. each time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you, it felt like a peace of yourself was thrown away.

and as you clutched your swelling stomach, you couldn’t help but feel pity for baby number four.

maybe you’d grow up and find love.

maybe i’ll be able to take you all away from him.

maybe we’ll heal.

you thought, but in the back of your head, a little voice wouldn’t shut up.

you’ll always be his little dove.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #dark!lucy gray x reader #dark!lucy gray baird x reader #hunger games x reader

2K notes · View notes